"Ah, Monsieur le Capitaine!" cried he, in a sneering voice, "_comment
vous portez-vous_? You came up dove-hunting--_eh_? The birds, you see,
are not in the cot."
Had there been only a thread around my body, I could not have moved at
that moment. I felt cold and rigid as marble. A thousand agonising
thoughts crowded upon me at once--my doubts, my fears on _her_ account,
drowning all ideas of personal danger. I could have died at that
moment, and without a groan, to have ensured her safety.
There was something so fiendish in the character of this man--a polished
brutality, too--that caused me to fear the worst.
"Oh, heaven!" I muttered, "in the power of such a man!"
"Ho!" cried Dubrosc, advancing a pace or two, and seizing my horse by
the bridle, "a splendid mount! An Arab, as I live! Look here, Yanez!"
he continued, addressing a guerillero who accompanied him, "I claim
this, if you have no objection."
"Take him," said the other, who was evidently the leader of the party.
"Thank you. And you, Monsieur le Capitaine," he added ironically,
turning to me, "thank you for this handsome present. He will just
replace my brave mustang, for whose loss I expect I am indebted to you,
you great brute!--_sacre_!"
The last words were addressed to Lincoln; and, as though maddened by the
memory of La Virgen, he approached the latter, and kicked him fiercely
in the side.
The wanton foot had scarcely touched his ribs, when the hunter sprang
up, as if by galvanic action, _the thongs flying from his body_ in fifty
spiral fragments. With a bound he leaped to his rifle; and, clutching
it--he knew it was empty--struck the astonished Frenchman a blow upon
the head. The latter fell heavily to the earth. In an instant a dozen
knives and swords were aimed at the hunter's throat. Sweeping his rifle
around him, he cleared an opening, and, dashing past his foes with a
wild yell, bounded off through the shrubbery. The guerilleros followed,
screaming with rage; and we could hear an occasional shot, as they
continued the pursuit into the distant woods. Dubrosc was carried back
into the rancho, apparently lifeless.
We were still wondering how our comrade had untied himself, when one of
the guerilleros, lifting a piece of the thong, exclaimed:
"_Carajo! ha cortado el briboncito_!" (The little rascal has cut it!)
and the man darted into the shrubbery in search of little Jack. It was
with us a moment of fearful suspense. We expected to see poor Jack
sacrificed instantly. We watched the man with intense emotion, as he
ran to and fro.
At length he threw up his arms with a gesture of surprise, calling out
at the same time:
"_Por todos santos! se fue_!" (By all the saints! he's gone!)
"Hurrah!" cried Chane; "holies!--such a gossoon as that boy!"
Several of the guerilleros dived into the thicket; but their search was
in vain.
We were now separated, so that we could no longer converse, and were
more strictly watched, two sentries standing over each of us. We spent
about an hour in this way. Straggling parties at intervals came back
from the pursuit, and we could gather, from what we overheard, that
neither Lincoln nor Jack had yet been retaken.
We could hear talking in the rear of the rancho, and we felt that our
fate was being determined upon. It was plain Dubrosc was not in command
of the party. Had he been so, we should never have been carried beyond
the olive-grove. It appeared we were to be hung elsewhere.
At length a movement was visible that betokened departure. Our horses
were taken away, and saddled mules were led out in front of the rancho.
Upon these we were set, and strapped tightly to the saddles. A serape
was passed over each of us, and we were blinded by tapojos. A bugle
then sounded the "forward". We could hear a confusion of noises, the
prancing of many hoofs, and the next moment we felt ourselves moving
along at a hurried pace through the woods.